


Tumblr prompts

by lolcat202



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolcat202/pseuds/lolcat202
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shots based on various Tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**awful-aus:**

**“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU**

Regina Mills hated Starbucks. The lines were too long, the coffee tasted burnt, and the tables were always full of hipsters with beards and knit beanies working on the next Great American Novel. But she had an hour to kill before picking Henry up from his playdate, and in this neighborhood, her only options were Starbucks or Taco Bell. She bought herself a soy latte, settled into the only open table in the store, and opened the Kindle app on her phone to do some guilty pleasure reading.

She was engrossed in Gone Girl when an accented voice interrupted her. “I’m terribly sorry, but it seems you have the only available plug in this room. Do you mind if I plug in my laptop?” She lifted her head, ready to say that she did indeed mind, very much so, but the blue eyes that met hers made her pause. He definitely had a beard, but this was no twenty-something flannel-wearing hipster. He looked to be about her age, well dressed, with sandy blonde hair and a set of dimples that made her heart skip a beat.

“No, no-” she stammered. “Go right ahead.”

She expected him to plug in the computer and stretch the cord to the table where he had been sitting. She did not expect him to pull out the chair opposite her own and make himself comfortable at her table. “Thank you. I’m halfway through a test for my license renewal, and if my computer died now, I’d have to repeat the entire 3-hour bloody course.”

***

Technically, that was a bit of a fib. Robin Locksley has surveyed the room looking for a plug, and his options had been either to interrupt the two teenage girls who seemed to be having a very serious discussion about Justin Bieber, or take a chance on the gorgeous brunette who was nursing a coffee and staring at her phone. It wasn’t a difficult decision, really. He had maybe 15 minutes left on his fair housing exam, and then when he was done, maybe he could try to work his charm on the brunette.

She seemed surprised when he sat down across from her, but offered no argument. Her left hand was clutching her coffee cup, and he noted with satisfaction that there were no rings on her fingers. He wasn’t in the habit of hitting on strange women at Starbucks, but then women such as this were apparently not in the habit of coming into Starbucks, so he was going to take advantage of the opportunity.

Just as soon as he finished this stupid test.

***

Regina tried to ignore the handsome stranger and focus her attention on the book, but it didn’t seem to be working. She kept looking up to steal a glance at her companion, taking in the way he bit his lower lip as he concentrated. It was very distracting.

“You’re staring,” he said, without looking up from his screen. She could feel a blush creep along her cheeks. “Sorry,” she replied. “My mind was just…wandering.” Wandering back to that bottom lip.

Snap out of it, Regina, she told herself. You do not ogle strange men at Starbucks. And with eyes and dimples like that, she was sure that he got more than enough attention from women without adding her to the list. She furrowed her brow and turned back to her book, determined to ignore him until it was time to pick up Henry.

She kept her eyes firmly planted on her phone screen. If she read the same paragraph four times in a row, well, he didn’t need to know that.

***

Once the final question had been answered and the pop-up had assured him that he had passed, Robin closed his laptop. His companion was ignoring him completely, refusing to look up from her phone.

“Well then,” he said. “I passed, thanks in no small part to your generosity in letting me share the table. May I buy you a fresh coffee as a thanks?”

She looked up and smiled. “That’s not necessary. Besides, I’ve already had enough caffeine for the afternoon.”

“A cookie, perhaps? Or a cake pop?”

She shook her head, her smile brightening. “No, thank you.”

“Well then, will you at least tell me your name, so that I may thank you properly?”

She extended her right hand to shake. “Regina. Regina Mills.”

He grasped her hand, pleasantly surprised at the firmness of her grip and the softness of her skin. “Robin Locksley, at your service.”

“Pleased to meet you, and congratulations on passing your exam.”

“Thank you. Now may I ask what it is that has you so enthralled on your phone there? Facebook? Candy Crush? Dostoevsky?”

She laughed, a deep-throated chuckle that made Robin shiver a bit. “Not quite Dostoevsky, but close. I’m reading Gone Girl.”

“Ah. I haven’t read it, but I did see the movie. Quite a chilling take on modern relationships.”

“Well, you know,” she shrugged. “People are nuts.”

***

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Certainly not all people are nuts. I’ll have you know that the women I’ve dated would all agree that I am perfectly normal, if a bit messy.”

Dated. Past tense. Hmmm. “Perhaps. But if it’s a lengthy list – the women you’ve dated – maybe you are nuts and just don’t know it.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. There’s only one way to test this theory. Have dinner with me.” Regina’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Had he just asked her out? On a date? “What?” she finally choked out.

“Have dinner with me,” he repeated, and there was that smile and those dimples again.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer who stalks innocent victims sitting alone at coffee shops?”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “My card, Regina. Feel free to google me to put your mind at ease.” After a brief hesitation, she accepted the card and tucked it into her purse. She glanced at her phone. Shit, it was already 4:30. She had to go get Henry.

“I have to go,” she said, fumbling with her bag and coffee cup.

He stood as she gathered her things. “Regina.” She looked up into those blue eyes again. “It was a pleasure to meet you. And now that you have my card, I will be expecting to hear from you once you’ve determined that I am not a serial killer.” He walked her to the door, and as she turned to say goodbye, he reached for her hand. He brought it to his lips and brushed a chivalrous kiss against the back of her hand. “Goodbye, milady,” he said with a grin.

She watched him stroll across the parking lot. Perhaps she would call him, after all.

**otpprompts: Imagine person A, after months/years of grieving, finally able to move on from the death of Person B.**

Zelena’s patience had worn thin, he knew that. Knew that she expected him to be delighted with his new life, delighted with sharing a home with her. Delighted to be tending bar and sweeping up after rowdy drunks at the end of the night. And he was, he supposed. This was the life he’d chosen when he’d asked Zelena to be his wife. He had vowed to walk away from Robin Hood and embrace Robin Locksley, a stalwart, upstanding citizen who abided by the kingdom’s laws and never, ever stole. He had agreed to all of this willingly, and he was committed to making his future with Zelena work.

It would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for that one afternoon where he had finally seen how much more his life could be. That two hours before the wedding that he’d spent with the bandit Regina Mills. She had stood up to him, and challenged him, and made him laugh. She had grit and determination, and she was by far the most stubborn woman he had ever met.

He was quite accustomed to stubbornness; to the man, his followers were a surly and self-centered bunch. Even Zelena had a fearsome temper and would never back down when she wanted something. Regina, though – the stubbornness that she had shown wasn’t borne of privilege, or of pride. She wouldn’t knuckle under because she knew that giving in meant, quite literally, the difference between life and death. For Robin, playing the merry outlaw was a game. A game he took seriously, of course – he relished in every successful theft because he knew that he could provide for the poor in his village – but for Regina, being an outlaw was the only option she had left.

Well, he supposed that she could have married. Found a wealthy husband to secure her fortune. He remembered her flashing eyes and fiery temper in the tavern. No, a wealthy husband would not have been enough for her. She needed a partner, an equal, someone to ride side-by-side with her, headlong into danger and damning the consequences.

\To this day, he was still ashamed of how close he had been to offering himself to fill that role. Mere hours before his wedding, and he’d been ready to chuck it all and follow her down whatever path she chose. If Zelena had not come looking for him in that tavern, he might have done it.

What was done was done. Regina had walked out of the tavern, and Robin had put her out of his mind, sure he would never see her again. And yet she’d shown up at the church, just as he was to say his vows. He’d felt her presence before he saw her, and when he looked at her, he saw eternity and freedom just waiting for him in her warm brown eyes. The vicar and Zelena were both watching him, waiting for him to repeat his vows, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face at the sight of her, clutching the church door nervously.

\Something had drawn her away, though, and as she disappeared through the door, his traitorous thoughts had fled. The pressure on his wrist brought him back to the present. Zelena was clutching his hand, squeezing hard enough that her nails were digging into his flesh. He had shaken loose the image of Regina’s sweet smile and repeated his vows.

As the church bells rung out, he escorted his bride through the vestibule. It was only then that he’d seen her, lying deathly still and covered with blood. He’d run to her side, knowing that it was not his place to be there, knowing that Zelena would be outraged that he’d abandoned her like that, but finding himself not even remotely able to care.

\He’d tucked an arm under her head and muttered empty reassurances, but Regina would have none of it. She was no fool; she knew she was going to die. So he had promised her that she wouldn’t die alone, and he’d held her head and stroked her arm until her eyes had closed.\

It was the single most devastating moment of Robin’s life.

Months later, talking to Will after the tavern had closed and the two men had finished off the dregs of a cask of ale, Robin had confessed that Regina’s death had nearly broken him. The thought of her leaving Sherwood Forest to seek greener pastures was bad enough, but he could have lived with knowing that she was out there somewhere, wreaking havoc and creating her own fortune. What he couldn’t live with was seeing the life slowly ebb out of her and knowing that there was nothing he could do about it. Knowing that if he’d just followed her out of the church, as he had so desperately wanted to do, he could have prevented her death.

“Mate,” Will had said, “You only met her that day. What were you supposed to do?”

He’d opened his mouth to answer, but words failed him. How could he explain himself to Will, when he couldn’t even be honest about his feelings to himself?

“I just-“ he had paused. “She was incredible. I’ve never seen the likes of her before, and I never will again."

\“Probably not,” Will had replied. “But she’s gone, and you’re here, and your wife looks fairly miserable. And I can’t say that I like her all that much, but you look fairly miserable too. So find a way to make it better, or I’ll have to start drinking elsewhere.”

Will was right, Robin knew that, so he set about trying to banish the memory of Regina lying on the ground. He brought Zelena flowers for no reason. He focused on making the tavern a successful operation. He embraced his wife in the dark of the night, trying to focus on her red curls and blue eyes, trying to remember all the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. Eventually, he was able to see Zelena when he closed his eyes. Eventually, he was able to laugh with her without feeling like he was betraying the ghost of the person he so wished he could see again. He would go several days without thinking of Regina, and when her face popped into his mind, he found he could tolerate the image. He could look back and smile about her complete unwillingness to say thank you, rather than focusing on how he’d let her down in the end.

Eventually, there were just two people in his marriage, not three. Until the day his first child was born, a daughter that had a shock of brown hair and gave him such a look of determination and anger when he held her in his arms that he was once again reminded that he’d made the wrong choice.

 **17:** **"What is ______ doing in the freezer?"**

Regina stood in front of the stove, stirring a batch of risotto. She looked up as Robin padded into the kitchen, clearly following his nose to the scent of garlic and sauteed onions. "Please tell me that will be ready soon," he said with a hopeful smile.

“About five minutes,” she answered. “Can you get the basil out of the freezer for me?”

Robin opened the freezer door, then slammed it shut with a yelp. “Regina! What is your bloody heart doing in the freezer?”

Her heart? She dropped the wooden spoon on the granite countertop. “What are you talking about?”

Robin opened the freezer door and pulled out a frozen red lump. “What is THIS?” he demanded.

She bit her lip, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s not my heart, Robin,” she said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s yours.”

“What?” he snapped.

“Well, after last night, I thought you could use a little cooling off.”

Robin grabbed at his chest, patting his palm against the fabric of his shirt as if he were feeling for a hole, or scars, or something indicating that he was missing a vital organ. She couldn’t hold back her laughter. The more she laughed, the darker Robin’s eyes got.

“You’re funny, Regina. Hilarious.” He crossed his arms over his chest, still holding the icy lump in his hand. “But I still would like to know what this is.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Science project, Robin. It’s plastic. Henry molded it this afternoon and put it into the freezer to firm up.”

Robin nodded, a bit abashed that he’d immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. He placed the plastic heart gently back into the freezer and fetched the frozen basil.

“Thought I could use some cooling off, milady,” he said from behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and brushing the icy cold basil against her cheek with the other. “I rather thought," he said, his lips brushing her ear and sending shivers up her spine, "you liked me hot.”

 

**[otpprompts](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/120291897707/imagine-your-otp-with-their-first-young-kid-like):**

**Imagine your OTP with their first, young kid (like 1 year old) and the kid gets sick for the first time and your OTP doesn’t know what to do, so they call their parents and whatever happens next is up to you** **.**

Henry had never been sick, not as a baby. Sure, there had been nights where he had cried for no reason, nights where she had worn a groove in the floor, walking with him and trying to soothe his tears. Nights where she had called Whale at 3am and demanded that he come to her house, only to be told that he had a cold, and babies have colds, and maybe she should relax a little bit.

He had not gotten truly sick until he was four, and he could tell her where it hurt, and as much as she hated to see him in pain she knew that she could fix it.

She could tell by Robin’s face that Roland had never gone through this either. That in Roland’s first years, the only sickness he’d ever feared was Marian’s. And now the two of them were standing in the nursery, with Regina holding Merry and Robin rubbing her back, both terrified of what the night would bring.

She was struggling to breathe, the baby. Gasping in a way that made Regina’s own heart stop, gasping in a way that made Robin’s jaw clench every time she struggled for breath.

“We have to do something,” he said evenly, trying to remain calm because he could see that Regina was on the verge of losing it. “Call the hospital. We’re going.”

Regina bundled up the baby. Only two months old, and already she’d had to fight through a difficult birth that had resulted in the death of her mother. Two weeks in an incubator in the NICU, but the doctor had given her the all-clear to go home, and Regina had thought that it would be the end of their struggle. That whatever power she possessed would be enough to protect this child that she couldn’t help but love.

Robin was on the phone to Emma, asking her to come to the house and stay with Henry. Of course this would happen on the night that Henry was staying in his bedroom on Mifflin Street. Of course the call for help would make her feel like she couldn’t even take care of her son. How could she take care of this baby?

 _Mother_ , she thought.  _Mother, tell me what to do._

It was a reflex for Regina, a call to the woman who had borne Regina to climb to heights she herself could never ascend. Cora had never loved her as she’d needed to be loved, but when her mother had died in her arms, Regina had finally learned that Cora had loved her in the only way that she could. And because she was her daughter, Regina had never stopped looking for her mother to make things better.

 _You stopped breathing when you were a baby_ , came the answering voice in her head.  _I’ve never been so frightened. I thought I would lose you._

It was a story Regina had heard over and over as a child, her mother telling her how desperately she’d wanted a daughter, and how afraid she’d been when Regina had fallen sick and Cora had no idea how to help her.

 _I asked the maids to bring up hot water_ , she had said.  _I locked us into the privy closet, and I paced back and forth with you, surrounded by steam and the smell of rosemary. I thought you would die, but you didn’t. You fought for every breath, and by morning, you were breathing easily again. And when you did, I knew that you were the greatest gift I’d ever been given, and I would have died a hundred times over to protect you._

Regina would have gladly done the same for Meredith, the baby that was never supposed to be but had claimed her heart all the same. She ran down to the kitchen and lit the burner, still clutching the tiny bundle in her arms. Tea kettle, rosemary, faith.

She held her niece – her daughter, her flesh and blood – in her arms, and breathed in the vapor. “Please hold on, baby girl,” she whispered, and she felt like Merry’s breathing came a little bit easier.

Robin’s arms encircled her from behind, and she felt him lifting the tiny bundle from her arms. “Whale is waiting for us,” he said. “Get your keys.”

Regina fished her keys from the crystal vase in the front hallway, and as she followed Robin and Merry out the front door, she heard her mother’s voice.  _You were a survivor, Regina. You always will be. And that’s what makes you my daughter._

 _That’s what makes you my daughter,_ her thoughts echoed, and the claws of panic that had been gripping her heart eased _. That’s what makes you mine._

 

**[thecitricacidcycle](http://thecitricacidcycle.tumblr.com/post/121069930591/oq-prompt):**

> **Outlaw Bandit: Robin sneaks into Regina’s hideaway to ambush her (in retaliation for something she’s done to him probably), but waits too long and she starts undressing.**

She’d pilfered his bow. Of all things, the wretched woman had pilfered his  _bow_. He and the men had been having a knees-up in the tavern, celebrating a most successful haul. He’d been lulled into a false sense of security by the company, and the size of the purse they’d snatched, and most definitely the strength of the ale. He’d seen a woman lurking in the shadows, face hidden by her hair but curves on ample display in a barmaid’s dress, but he had thought nothing of it. Until, of course, it was time to leave and his bloody bow was gone.

 _Regina_. She was going to be the death of him, if he didn’t kill her first.

Of course, he supposed, he probably deserved it. She had set her own traps for that carriage, traps that he and his men had meticulously undone. Robin hated to take food from her mouth, but Sherwood Forest was an unforgiving place, and he and his men had to take care of themselves first and the people second. Regina Mills was but a distant third on his list.

That is, until she stole his bow. Her audacity immediately moved her up to to the top of Robin’s list of priorities. 

He stole quietly through the forest in the dead of night, side-stepping her traps with ease. He had no interest in dismantling her rough security system; he just wanted to avoid warning her that he was coming. He crept into the hollow log that she called home. A quick survey told him she wasn’t home; a more thorough search showed that wherever she was, she still had his bow. He settled in a dark corner to wait.

She crept in so silently that he didn’t hear her until she was almost on top of him. She was covered head to toe in a dark cloak, and damn her, she was wearing his bow slung across her back. She pulled the bow off and dropped it carelessly on the floor; watching the bow he’d so delicately carved clatter on the stones underfoot almost sent him to his feet. He kept his silence, though; eventually, she’d nod off and he’d be gone with his bow and, no doubt, with something of value to her.

She didn’t have much, that much he knew from his earlier search. What little she had, though, she kept in good condition. She was cautious in all things and far more capable than most men he’d met. Truthfully, he admired her for having the gall to steal his bow, and he relished the opportunity to return the favor. Parting the rich from their wealth was Robin’s favorite pastime; goading Regina Mills was a close second.

He expected her to drop her cloak and fall into her pallet in the corner; the hour was late and clearly she’d been busy this evening. He didn’t expect her to begin removing her shirt right in front of him. Suddenly, he regretted coming here tonight. He had no issue with provoking Regina’s temper, but he was not the kind of cad that would take advantage of a woman, no matter how often she irritated him. He opened his mouth to say something, to stop her from revealing too much, but the shirt was over her head before he could speak. Her back was to him, and she had an angry red gash from her shoulder to her mid-back.

“That looks quite serious,” he said softly. She jumped and whirled around, clutching her shirt to her chest.

“You,” she breathed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looked to his bow, and looked back up to her, one eyebrow cocked in disbelief. “You have to ask? Now turn around.”

She continued to stare at him, mouth agape. One hand was twitching nervously, and he knew that it was itching to find a weapon to sink into his belly. He wouldn’t give her the opportunity, though. He reached out and grabbed her shoulders (gently, minding the wound), and turned her away from him. He studied the injury in the candlelight. “Well, it’s not deep, but it still needs attention.” He pulled a flask from his vest and poured a liberal amount of whiskey over the wound. Her shoulders stiffened and he heard her sharp intake of breath, but she gave no other indication that she felt any discomfort. “Have you any salve to put on this?” She hesitated, then jerked her chin toward a shelf to his left. He poked through the jars until he found the one he wanted, a foul-smelling brew popular throughout the forest for heading off infection. He scooped some into his fingers and began gently rubbing it onto the abrasion. He couldn’t help but notice the soft perfection of her skin, the curve of her waist, or the sharp angle of her jaw as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. He gently brushed her braid out of the way. “Hold still please,” he muttered. He was mortified to find that his breathing had quickened, keeping in time with his rapidly escalating heartbeat. Of all the things he’d expected to find tonight, a half-naked Regina was not one of them.

She was breathing heavily too, he noticed with some satisfaction, and clutching her shirt over her breasts for dear life. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over her bare skin, and her shoulders stiffened. “It will leave a mark, I’m afraid, but I believe you’ll live.” She nodded, but she made no move to pull away from him. He stroked a hand along her uninjured shoulder, marveling at the sinew and muscle under his hand. He felt the heat of her coursing through his veins, and he dropped his hand. “Now, milady, I believe I’ll take what I came for.” He reached down and scooped up his bow, his eyes never leaving hers. He bowed with a smug smile and backed slowly out of her home. She made no move to stop him, nor did she look away. He took the memory of the fire and passion in her eyes with him to his camp. 

Well, that and the pendant he’d lifted from the shelf next to her medicinal jars. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and he found he was eager for her to come after it.


	2. Delicate things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quickie (hurr hurr hurr) based on another Tumblr prompt by thecitricacidcycle, who gives excellent prompts.

  1. [thecitricacidcycle](http://thecitricacidcycle.tumblr.com/) answered: fluffy smut? regina finding out that robin gets turned on by her pants suits, like the ones she wears when she’s in super madam mayor mode



 

Regina’s closet is filled with designer labels. Gucci, Burberry, Donna Karan. Names that hold no meaning in the Enchanted Forest, but names that she’s come to recognize in Storybrooke. The wardrobe of the Evil Queen was delicate and detailed, all jewels and feathers and form-fitting velvet. The wardrobe of the mayor is a different thing entirely - simple, understated, bold and intimidating black balanced with vibrant slashes of color. The same palette, but a modern approach. Regina can barely remember the days of the innocent girl who loved powder blue satin, and most of the time, she doesn’t want to remember it.

Sometimes, though, she does remember. Her underwear drawer is filled with lace and satin in pastel colors. Silky panties and intricate bras, designed to be seen, designed to entice. Regina doesn’t own underwear in black and red; underneath her clothes she is soft and feminine, light and beautiful. It’s the secret she’s hidden from Storybrooke for 30 years. Even Graham, her most constant lover, knew nothing of the delicate palette of her intimates. When they came together, it was in the dark, bodies meeting in shadows, hands groping to find each other across a chasm of blackness. Graham didn’t know Regina, not the real Regina, and she wasn’t about to let him in. 

Robin, though…Robin knows.That day in her office, he’d kissed her over the picnic she’d spread out, his lips tasting of a dusty Malbec and creamy brie. He’d urged her to the couch and pulled the zipper of her gray and black dress down slowly - so slowly - his fingers ghosting against her skin as he’d tugged the bit of metal. Underneath she was wearing a bra and panties of delicate embroidered pink lace, and as he’d pulled the dress from her shoulders, he’d shuddered at the sight of her. “So beautiful,” he’d whispered, as his thumb stroked her nipple through the transparent lace. “You are perfect, Regina.”

And she’d been perfect, that day. She’d been everything he wanted, everything she never knew she could be. He’d slid the dress and her pantyhose slowly over her hips, reveling in the feel of her skin against his callused hands. He’d pulled her hips tight against him as he bent down to kiss the swell of her breast, one finger curling lazily into the cup of her bra. He’d eased the straps down her shoulders, taking his time to uncover the prize he’d won by fighting so desperately to protect her heart. And though she’d been terrified to expose herself so fully to him - to let him see her in the warm glow of the evening, she’d forced herself to keep her eyes open, to relish every sigh, every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers against her bare skin.

Never in her life had she felt cherished. Never had she felt so loved, or wanted. Never had she felt that she was enough, that what she offered would be taken with whispers of gratitude and love and promises of a future that would give her everything she’d never dared to hope she could have.

That afternoon Regina saw everything in bright, vibrant colors. The blue of Robin’s eyes, the rosy pink of lips stained with her lipstick. The red of her own desires and the bright white of her own passion coming to a head under his skillful hands and his tongue. The sultry steel gray of lying, wrapped in his arms, whispering to each other of fate, and timing, and second chances. The gently cresting orange of a sun setting on the life she’d lived up until this point.

The dark, all-encompassing black of watching him take Marian in his arms. The black that she could never escape, no matter how hard she tried.

The black of a sharply tailored pair of pants, stitched to hug every curve of her body. She pulls them over her legs, slides them over a midnight blue pair of panties. She zips and buttons and pulls a dark green sweater off the shelf to complete the look. The mayor is back, dressed in an armor of light wool and cashmere, and she has things to do. Demons to face, as always. She shakes the matching jacket off the hanger and pulls it over her arms. She smooths her hair and slips into a pair of black boots. Armored to face the day. Perfect, as Cora always wanted her to be.

A hand snakes over her waist and slides underneath the soft cashmere.

“You’re dressed again,” Robin says, and she can’t tell if his voice was thick with sleep or disappointment.

“You can sleep all day, but I can’t. Someone has to run this town.”

He hums appreciatively in her ear. “Someone yes, but does it have to be you? I’d rather you spend the day with me.” His other hand slides down her hip, squeezing flesh under wool. She sucks in a quick breath.

“You knew who I was when you met me,” she whispers as she turns her lips to his. They’ve had countless arguments since he returned about her dedication to her job. That she loves him, loves him with everything she has, but that she won’t abandon her responsibilities. He understands, has always understood that she is her own person and that he is lucky to have the parts of her that he can claim for his own, but he hates to see her leave the bed in the morning (her bed, their bed, taupe sheets kicked off of bare skin, all running together in the dark of the night). Her hands reach behind her to find him, skin and cotton and heat. She tucks her fingers underneath the elastic of his boxers and rakes her nails along his hip. “This is my town, and I have to go.”

He gently turns her in his arms. “I know,” he says sadly. “And I hate to see you dressed up to leave me, but milady…I love to see you dressed up to leave me.”

She laughs at that. In the weeks since Robin had returned to Storybrooke, in the weeks since she’d set aside her own reservations and welcomed him back into her home (into her bed), he’d never said that he liked seeing her fully dressed. And if his actions were any indication, it seemed he preferred taking her out of her clothes rather than admiring her in them.

“I think you’re full of shit,” she whispers softly, stroking his cheek.

“I think you’re amazing,” he replies, and he tugs at the lapels of her tailored jacket. “This you. This is who I fell in love with.”

Fell in love with. She can’t believe it still, can’t believe that he’d looked under the myth of the Evil Queen and seen something worth knowing. Can’t believe that he’d chosen her. Can’t believe that she’d forgiven him when every instinct had told her to incinerate him. And yet, he had. She had. They had. And he is still here, day after day, curling up to her in the dead of night, cooking her dinner when she is too tired from a day at City Hall to even contemplate a sandwich, teasing her her when her moods grow dark, inky purple swirling into blackness, searching for a release that won't further blacken her already taxed heart.

Kissing her, red and white-hot and the brilliant blue of his eyes, eyes that brush her skin when he thinks she’s not looking. Pine and fir and dirt, forest green that clings to him even now when he is barely dressed.

“You fell in love with my wardrobe,” she laughs. “That’s hardly flattering.”

“I fell in love with you, Regina,” he replies softly. “The rest is just window dressing. But,” he continued, as his hand slides down her waist and comes to rest on her ass, tugging it a little closer to him, “I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that the sight of you like this turns me on.”

She scoffs at that, her eyes dropping to his chest. Men. Anything turns them on if they think about it hard enough.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Madam Mayor. This is hardly a laughing matter.”

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together in mock seriousness, and one of his hands come up to still her, his thumb delicately tracing the line of her cheekbone. “I look at you in these clothes, and all I can think of is what you’re wearing underneath them. And how quickly I can find out.”

Her head leans forward, touching his forehead with her own. In her heels, the heels designed to bring her to a height that intimidates the men that challenge her authority (and there are so many – Storybrooke really isn’t so different than the Enchanted Forest) they are almost at eye level. And she feels in her element, that they are equal players in the game, and that she has maybe a better than good chance at winning while he’s stroking the curve of her ass through her black wool trousers.

“And how quickly can you find out?” she whispers. She has things to do, she has a meeting in an hour, but she can’t bring herself to care. She stands in her closet, surrounded by a wardrobe designed to intimidate and impress, but all she wants is to be slowly stripped bare. To be seen as Regina, to be loved and cherished, to be adored and celebrated, to be brought to a fever pitch over and over again, and for the first time in her life, the man who can do all those things is right here holding her in his arms.

Holding her with one hand while the other tugs her suit jacket away. He drops the jacket at her feet and pulls at the hem of her sweater. “Not so quickly that you won’t relish every moment of it,” he says, and she loses herself in the kisses he planted, tongue tracing skin, along her neck. Red, pink, blue, green, white. Colors fading into each other with every breath she takes until they explode, all together, shooting through every fiber of her being with Robin crying out her name.


	3. Fluff prompts

**Fluffy prompt delayed af, but how about: "Robin finally gets to cook Regina breakfast"**

Things he never knew about Regina: she sleeps like the dead. He’s surprised by this; knowing how conscientious she is about raising Henry, he thought she would be a light sleeper. The first night he’s back in Storybrooke, though, he discovers that once her head hits the pillow, she’s out for a solid eight hours. Henry comes home a few days later, and he realizes that it’s not just Regina. The end of days would not wake Henry once his light is off. He may not be her biological son, but the two of them are very similar.

Robin is a light sleeper, has been since the day he left his father’s home. First, he was always aware of the slightest snap of a twig in the forest, then he was always listening for Nottingham or his men. Once Roland was born, he slept in snatches; his son woke every hour for the first year of his life, and so did Robin.

It’s hard for him to adjust to sleeping in a quiet room in a comfortable bed. He loves being here, loves that Regina will roll over onto him in the middle of the night, even loves the fact that occasionally her dreams will get intense and he’ll wake up to a sharp jab to the stomach. She mutters as she dreams, but he strokes her hair until she eventually quiets, and when her breathing evens out, he can drift back off.

She stays up late most nights, trying to figure out a way to cross realms to find Emma. On those nights, he feeds Roland and Henry, gets Roland tucked in and admonishes Henry not to stay up too late reading, and waits up for her to finally come to bed. She comes out of the bathroom, face freshly scrubbed and clad in a silk pajama top, or a nightgown, or occasionally one of his shirts. She climbs over him to get to her side of the bed.

He loves that she does that.

She could walk around the bed, but she always scoots over him, sometimes catching him in the ribs with a knee or an elbow. He thought initially that it was habit for her, that she was unused to having an obstacle in her bed, but now he knows that she does it to reassure herself that he’s still here. So he waits up for her, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d wake up anyway at the feel of her legs dragging across his own in the darkness. And, to be honest, he sleeps better when he knows she’s settled, when he can kiss her goodnight and stroke her hair and tell her that he loves her. Because he does love her, desperately, and he would do anything to help lift the weight she’s carrying off her shoulders.

Tonight she’s wearing one of his shirts, and he can see by the look on her face that she’s exhausted, and miserable, and doubting herself. He guides her hips over him as she crawls into bed and tucks her up against his side. “Sleep, love,” he says, “and I”ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

She smiles up at him. “You promised me that once before,” she says. 

“I am a man of honor,” he replies. “I always keep my promises.” She tucks her chin into his chest and murmurs, “no bacon,” and she’s out for the night.

He wakes to the unsettling feeling of being watched, and his head pops up, instantly alert for danger. Roland is standing next to the bed, staring intently at him. (This happens more often than not.) “It’s Saturday, Papa,” Roland whispers. “Can I watch cartoons?”

He nods and disentangles himself carefully, though he knows Regina won’t wake. They pad together down to the kitchen, and Robin switches on the small TV that’s mounted to the underside of the cabinets. She’d installed it so she can watch the Food Network while she cooks, another thing he’s learned since moving into the house on Mifflin Street. He pours Roland a bowl of cereal and switches the TV to the Disney Channel. He turns on the coffeemaker and then opens the fridge, surveying the contents.

Robin is a good cook. Not a great cook, by any stretch of the imagination - Sherwood Forest was woefully short of such things as garlic, and cinnamon, and extra virgin olive oil, but he can hold  his own. He skips over the drawer where Regina keeps the thick-sliced applewood smoked bacon that he and Henry prefer and instead reaches for a carton of blueberries and two eggs. He rummages in the pantry for pancake mix (it’s cheating, using a mix, but he still hasn’t gotten quite comfortable with the system of measuring ingredients they use in this land). He cracks the eggs and adds vegetable oil and water, and because Roland insists, he lets his son whisk the batter as he cranks up the burner under Regina’s cast iron griddle pan. He pours out equal measures of batter, very precise, and lets Roland drop the blueberries in, one by one. He’s not very careful, his attention divided between blueberries and whatever silly cartoon is on the TV, but Robin just uses the spatula to nudge berries through the batter. Every bite should be perfect.

He has a stack of pancakes on a plate and is cutting up strawberries when he hears her footsteps on the stairs. She’s rubbing her eyes as she comes into the kitchen, and she smiles at Robin as he hands her a glass of orange juice. She loves coffee, he’s learned that too, but she can’t drink it on an empty stomach. So he gives her a glass of juice and a plate of freshly cut strawberries, and she pulls up a stool next to Roland.

“It smells delicious,” she says with a smile, and he is instantly disarmed by the the ease in which she looks at him, by the fact that she hasn’t bothered to brush her hair. She lets him see her at her worst. And at her worst, she’s still spectaular.

He slides a stack of pancakes onto her plate and drops a handful of strawberries to go with them. She sips her juice and watches him as he flips another set of pancakes, ready for when Henry finally rouses for the day.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” she says with a smile, and Robin winks at her in response. 

“I always keep my promises,” he says, and his heart nearly bursts with love as he watches her take a forkful and lift it to her mouth. She chews, smiles, and places her fork down on the edge of her plate. “You’re too good to me,” she says.

“I like taking care of you,” he answers, reaching out to grab a strawberry from her plate.

She laughs at that, a little bit flattered and a little bit uneasy. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” she says. He reaches out and strokes her cheek. 

“I know you don’t,” he says, “but the fact that you let me do it is one of the reasons I love you.”

She blushes and ducks her chin. It’s not easy for her, he knows that; she likes to be in control, likes to call the shots. But she lets him watch over her, make sure she’s eating enough. Make sure she sleeps. Make sure she smiles. And he’s grateful for every second he gets with her.

“So, milady,” he says with a smile, “ was it worth the wait?” and he nods to her empty plate.

She looks back at him, standing in her kitchen, and puts her arm around Roland. “It was,” she says, and her smile makes all that they’ve been through worth it.

 

**Fluffy OQ prompt. Granny calls Robin a 'silver fox'. Regina has to explain the meaning to Robin.**

Some nights are tougher than others. Some nights she doesn’t want to leave the house, doesn’t want to leave the safety of her kitchen, or her couch, or their bed. Some nights all she can do is curl up under the covers with Robin’s arms around her, listening to his steady heartbeat, reassuring herself that he’s still here. He strokes her hair softly and whispers to her, tales of Roland and Henry on the playground, ancient legends of heroes and victors, or just quiet words of love and encouragement. On those nights, he’s the only reason that she sleeps.

Other nights, she feels stronger. She can venture out into the world without constantly looking for Emma, without remembering how she’d failed her friend. On those nights, she and Robin (and the boys, too) go to Granny’s and sit in a table and talk about small things while fighting over the last of the french fries (Roland always wins). 

It’s one of those nights that the boys clear their plates and turn to her, both making puppy-dog eyes, and beg for dessert. Regina could say no to Henry, had years of practice, but the two of them combined is too much for her. She nods and smiles, and Robin pulls her out of the booth to place the order with Granny. Ruby, of course, is nowhere to be found.

She leans on the counter and Robin loops his arm around her waist, casually, whispering into her ear that sweet treats for the boys can’t compare to the sweetness he expects from her later in the evening. She blushes - the Evil Queen blushes - and swats at his chest. “Stop it,” she says, mock severity in her voice. “People can hear you.”

“Nobody’s listening to us, Regina. Ruby is making out with Whale just outside the front door - they’re all looking at that.”

She peeks over her shoulder, and sure enough, Ruby is pressed up against the window outside the restaurant. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she  mutters under her breath, and Robin laughs and pulls her tighter. 

“I’d be happy to make a public spectacle of you, milady, if you’ll allow it,” he says.

“I will incinerate you on the spot,” she hisses through clenched teeth, and he laughs and ducks down to kiss her on the neck.

She’s leaning into him, enjoying the easy display of affection, her fingers looped through his as he tugs her tighter to him. A throat clearing brings her back to attention, and her head snaps up, almost popping Robin in the face.

“Well, are you two going to just keep making fools of yourselves, or did you want something?” Granny asks, staring at Regina over her glasses.

“Two slices of chocolate cake, and no commentary,” Regina snaps back. Granny rolls her eyes and lifts the glass dome off the cake dish on the counter. She slides two slices across the counter, and Robin reaches out to accept the plates.

“Here you go,” Granny says. “You and the silver fox there enjoy that.” Robin raises his eyebrows at that, and Granny gives him a slow once-over that makes Regina’s temper flare.

“Are you really in a position to be calling anyone a silver anything? You’re what, three hundred years old?” 

Granny shrugs. “I’m old, toots. I’m not dead.” She gives Robin another smile and a wink, and Regina pulls him away. No tip for Granny tonight.

“Silver fox?” Robin asks as they slide into the booth, and Henry chokes on his iced tea. “Is that supposed to be a reference to that cartoon you made me watch?”

Regina shakes her head. “No, it has nothing to do with Disney movies. Roland,” she says, “use your napkin.” She’s not trying to dodge the question, exactly; Roland seems to be getting more frosting on his face than in his mouth, but she’s perfectly happy to distract Robin. Henry knows what she’s doing; he’s grinning at her and kicking her under the table. She kicks him back, hard, and swipes a fingerfull of frosting from his plate.

“So what does it mean?” Robin asks as he takes a napkin to wipe the remains of the frosting off her finger. He gives her a look and bites his lower lip, and she knows that if the boys weren’t present, it wouldn’t be the napkin he used to clean up her hands.

“Nothing,” she says lightly. “It’s just an expression.”

Robin smiles at her, still toying with her fingers. “That’s not fair, Regina. I haven’t been in this world for long. You need to explain things to me.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Henry chips in, “you need to explain things to him.” Roland nods enthusatically, mouth full of cake, and Regina regrets leaving the comfort of her house tonight.

“A silver fox,” she starts, and shakes her head, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding ridiculous, “a silver fox is an good-looking older man. One that younger women…and apparently Granny…are attracted to.”

Henry is laughing so hard at this point that Regina is afraid he’s going to choke to death on his dessert. Robin has a bemused look on his face. “I’m flattered,” he says, “but confused. Just how much older than you does Granny think I am?”

Regina pats her cheeks and gives Robin a winsome smile. “Well, you know, monthly juice cleanse. Does wonders for the skin.”

Ruby has finally come up for air and strolls back into the diner, all of her lipstick completely gone. She wanders over to their table and clears away the dinner plates. “Anything else I can get you?” she asks.

“Not at the moment,” Robin replies, and then smiles at Ruby. “Ruby, love,” he says, “am I a silver fox?”

“The foxiest,” Ruby replies with a wink, and Robin turns to Regina with that same smirk he’s been giving her since the Enchanted Forest, the smirk that says that he knows that she finds him irresistible, even if she wouldn’t dare admit it.

“Just the check, Ruby,” she says drily.”And put your tongue back in your mouth. This fox is spoken for.” He cocks an eyebrow at her and she licks her lips slowly, reveling in the way his eyes follow her tongue.  _Two can play this game_ , she thinks, and all of a sudden she can’t wait to get home again. Back to the peace and quiet, back to her bed, back to Robin’s arms around her. But tonight…tonight, she doesn’t want to sleep.


End file.
